WITH HELMET ON HIS BROW.

WITH helmet on his brow,
And sabre on his thigh,

The soldier mounts his gallant steed,
To conquer or to die.

His plume like the pennon stream,
In the wanton summer's wind,
In the path of glory still,

That white plume shall he find.
Then let the trumpet's blast,
To the brazen drum reply,
A soldier must with honour live,
Or at once with honor die.

Bright as his own bright sword,
A soldier's fame must be,
As pure as the plume that floats above
That helm so white and free,
No fear in his breast may dwell,
Or a dread that shame may throw,
One spot on that blade so bright,
One stain on that plume of snow.

Then let the trumpet's, &c.

OH NO! WE NEVER MENTION HER.

Bayley.

Oh no! we never mention her, her name is never heard, My lips are now forbid to speak that once familiar word. From sport to sport they hurry me, to banish my regret, And, when they win a smile from me, they think that I forget.

They bid me seek in change of scene the charms that others see:

But, were I in a distant land, they'd find no change in me. 'Tis true that I behold no more the valley where we'met; I do not see the hawthorn-tree, yet how can I forget.

For oh! there are so many things recall the past to me: The breeze upon the sunny hills, the billows of the sea, The rosy tint that decks the sky, before the sun is set-Aye! ev'ry leaf I look upon, forbids me to forget.

They tell me she is happy now-the gayest of the gay; They think that she forgets me, but heed not what they say. Like me, perhaps, she struggles with each feeling of regret; But, if she loves as I have lov'd, she never can forget.

AULD ROBIN GRAY.

Lady Lindsay.

WHEN the sheep are in the fauld and the k'y at hame,
And a' the weary warld asleep are gane,

The waes o' my heart fa' in show'rs fra' me ee,
While my gude man sleeps sound by me.

Youug Jamie lov'd me weel, and ask'd me for his bride,
But saving a crown he had nothing beside;

To make the crown a pound, my Jamie went to sea,
And the crown and the pound were baith for me.
He had nae gone above a year and a day,

[away,
When my father brake his arm, and our cow was stole
My Mither she fell sick, and Jamie at the sea,
And Auld Robin Gray came courting to me.

My Faither cou'd nae wark, & my Mither cou'd nae spin>
I toiled day and night, but their bread I cou'd nae win;
And Robin fed them baith and wi' tears in his ee,
Said Jenny for their sakes O pray marry me.
My heart it said nae, for for I look'd for Jemmy back,
But the wind it blew hard and his ship was a wrack;
His ship was a wrack, why did nae Jenny die,
And why was I spared to cry wae is me.

My Faither urg'd me sair but my Mither did nae speak,
But she look'd in my face, till my heart was like to break;
Sa they gied him my hand, tho' my heart was in the sea,
And auld Robin Gray was a gude mon to me.

I had nae been a wife but weeks only four,
When sitting sa mournfully out my ain door;
I saw my Jammie's wraith for I cou'd nae think it he,
Till he said, Love I'm com'd hame to marry thee.
Sair, sair did we greet, and mickle did we say,
We took but ane kiss, and we tore ourselves away;
I wish I were dead-but I am nae like to d'e,
O why was I born to say wae's me?

I

gang like a ghaist, and I canna like to spin,'

I dare nae think o' Jemmy, for that would be a sin;

But I'll do my best a gude wife to be,

For Auld Robin Gray is very kind to me.

ALICE GRAY.

Mrs. P. Millard.

SHE's all my fancy painted her,

She's lovely, she's divine;

But her heart it is anothers,

She never can be mine,
'Yet love I as man never lov'd
A love without decay:

Oh! my heart, my heart, is breaking,
For the love of Alice Gray.

Her dark brown hair is braided o'er,
A brow of spotless white;
Her soft blue eye that languishes,
Now flashes with delight.

Her hair is braided not for me,

Her is turn'd away

eye

Oh! my heart, my heart is breaking,
For the love of Alice Gray.

For her I'd climb the mountains side,
For her I'd stem the flood;
For her I'd wage the battle's strife,
Tho' I seal'd it with my blood.
By night I'd watch her slumbers,
I'd tend her steps by day;

But she scorns the heart that's breaking,

For the love of Alice Gray.

I've sunk beneath the summer's sun,

I've trembled in the blast;

My pilgrimage is almost done,

The weary conflict s past :

And when the green sod wraps my grave,

May pity haply say

"Oh! his heart, his heart was broken

For the love of Alice Gray."

P

TAKE A BUMPER AND TRY.

'THEY tell me I've prov'd unkind to my lass,
Deserted poor Phillis, and stuck to my glass;
Altho' I have left her, the truth I'll declare,
I believe she is good, and I know she is fair.
My Phillis has dimples and smiles, I must own;
But though she could smile, yet in truth she could frown:
Then tell me, ye lovers of nectar divine,

Did you ere see a frown in a bumper of wine?
Oh! wine, mighty wine!

In wine, mighty wine, many comforts I spy!
If you doubt what I say, take a bumper and try.

Her lilies and roses are just in their prime,
Yet lilies and roses are conquer'd by time;
But in wine, from its age, such benefits flows,
That we love it the better the older it grows.
Let duels, and battles, and history prove
The mischief that waits upon rivals in love;
But in drinking good wine, no rivals contends,
For the more we love wine, sirs, the more we are friends.
Oh! wine, mighty wine!

In wine, mighty wine, many comforts I spy,
If you doubt what I say, take a bumper and try.

OH LIBERTY!

On Liberty! how fair thy angel face,

Walker.

Which gives to all things here a double grace:
That crowns with joy Britannia's little Isle,
And makes the barren moor and mountain smile.

How wretched he who lives and is not free;
For show'rs of gold I would not part from thee,
For nothing Fortune gives or takes away,
Gould for thy loss, sweet Liberty, repay.

THE SHAMROCK.

Air" Alley Croker."

THROUGH Erin's Isle to sport awhile,

As Love and valour wander'd,

T. Moore.

With Wit, the sprite, whose quivers bright,
A thousand arrows squander'd ;
Where'er they pass, a triple grass

Shoots up, with dew-drops streaming,
As softly green as emeralds, seen,
Through purest crystal gleaming!

Oh, the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock! Chosen leaf of bard and chief,

Old Erin's native Shamrock !

Says Valour" See they spring for me
Those leafy gems of morning."
Says Love "No, no, for me they grow,
My fragrant path adorning.'

But Wit perceives the triple leaves,
And cries" Oh! do not sever

A type that blends three God-like friends,
Love, Valour, Wit for ever!"

Oh the Shamrock, &c..

So firmly fond may last the bond

They wove that morn together,
And ne'er may fall one drop of gall
On Wit's celestial feather!

May Love, as shoot his flowers and fruit,
Of thorny falsehood weed 'em!
May Valour ne'er his standard rare
Against the cause of Freedom!

Oh the Shamrock, &c.

THE WILD BOY.*

C. W. Thompson.

He sat upon the wave-wash'd shore,
With madness in Eis eye,

The surge's dash-the breaker's roar

Passed unregarded by: